6 a.m.
The alarm sounds.
Eyes open slowly,
Fighting the pull of sleep.
7:30 a.m.
Coffee in my mug,
I race out the door.
I’m late
Yet somehow,
There’s still time to think of you.
12 p.m.
The phone rings endlessly.
Paperwork piles up,
Fork in my salad,
The first bite pulls my mind to you.
3 p.m.
Meetings drag.
Click-clack of typing,
Emails constantly pinging
Until 5 p.m.
And my hands tingle,
Knowing it’s almost time.
6 p.m.
The pan sizzles.
The air fills with the scent of ground beef.
The door creaks open
My husband greets me.
The TV hums softly.
Bowls of pasta in our laps,
And still, I think of you.
9:30 p.m.
Water boils in the kettle.
A steaming mug finds his hands,
While mine search for you.
I open my laptop,
Eyes aching from the screen,
But I can take a little more—for you.
The mouse hovers over a small document.
Tea steams as the page loads.
I smile.
Hands rest on the keys,
And I begin to weave.